The Power of Omniscience
by Dramelius
Summary: AU. Harry Potter strives for knowledge and he will get it, no matter the cost. Slytherin!Harry! Mentor!Nicolas. Harry/multy Harry/Fleur/Daphne.
1. Chapter 1

The power of omniscience

Disclaimer: This applies to the whole fic, including this chapter. I am not, in any way, shape or form, involved or affiliated with the Potter universe. I am merely borrowing the characters for my, and hopefully your, pleasure.

A/N: Hi, all. This is my first fic, so please feel free to flame me or give suggestions, so that this fic can be a better read.  
Anyway, all that gloomy and boring stuff out of the way, on with the story.  
The following section is taken from Lee Child's the visitor, also known as Running Blind.

PEOPLE SAY THAT KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. THE MORE KNOWLEDGE, the more power. Suppose you knew the winning numbers for the lottery? All of them? Not guessed them, not dreamed them, but really knew them? What would you do? You would run to the store, is what. You would mark those numbers on the playslip. And you would win.

Same for the stock market. Suppose you really knew what was going to go way up? You're not talking about a hunch or a gut feeling here.  
You're not talking about a trend or a percentage game or a whisper or a tip. You're talking about knowledge. Real, hard knowledge.

CHAPTER ONE Lily tilted the cup of tea and took a sip.  
She watched Flamel out the corner of her eye as he rubbed a callused hand over a few day s growth of stubble on his chin.

Will you do it? she asked, not meeting the much older wizard s dark eyes.

I ll do it, Flamel nodded. For you, Lily, I ll do it.

For me? she asked, half joking.  
Flamel bowed and adopted a formal tone.

It is not often that an old man, such as myself, is graced with the presence of a beautiful lady such as you.

Lily snickered. Really, Nick? You think I m beautiful, after all these years of observing women? To Flamel s nod, she said: "I am flattered, Nick. Thank you."  
Flamel smirked at Lily.

As you should be, my dear.

Lily and Flamel both knew that they had been shying from the original purpose of this call. It concerned her son, Harry James Potter, heir to the House Potter.

Getting back to the topic at hand, Flamel said: I ll do it. Although the circumstances, if they occur, will be most regrettable."

"I cannot thank you enough, Nick."

"No thanks are needed, Lily. It'll be my duty to the wizarding world."

Lily sighed.  
Flamel had a habit of bringing himself down.  
"Your duty? Maybe. But don't let that stand in your way, Nicolas."

October 31, 1981 Godric's Hollow.

The flash of green light ricocheted around the room, the reflection bouncing from window to window in a dizzying swirl of ominous light.  
Death touched that house, the one protected by the Fidelius and left it a wreck. The body of James Potter lay on the living room coffee table, disemboweled and most definitely dead. Lily Potter lay on the floor, dead from a killing curse. Harry Potter lay bleeding from a gash in his forehead, the only survivor of this macabre death-scene.

That was what greeted Nicolas as he walked into the Potter house.  
He smelt the tang of blood and dust from the lethal duel that had taken place.  
With a silent "Hominum revelio,"  
he began to home in on the last living Potter.  
Harry was crying.  
Blood trickled down his forehead and left tracks on his cheeks where they twined with that of his tears.  
Flamel extracted a Hanky from the front pocket of his robes and began to mop the blood and tears away.  
He cooed to the child, before he noticed the lightning bolt. He stepped back in shock, treading on the wrist of the dead body of Lord Voldemort.

Nicholas acted hastily.  
Quickly snatching Harry up, he waved his wand, shrinking and packing all Harry's belongings in a simultaneous thrum of active magic.  
Nicolas had seconds before Albus arrived, and he needed to flee the scene, and fast.

OOOOO

The spell zipped passed Harry's ear, like the twang of an elastic band.  
Quickly, he brought up his training wand and ripped off three triple burst of Stunning Spells, which Nicolas dodged expertly.  
"C'mon, old man!"Harry taunted, a smile of delight on his ten-year old face.  
"Don't get too cocky, boy!"Nicolas growled, but he didn't mean it.

Harry ran at him, sinuous ropes exploding from the tip of his wand, trying to encompass the elder wizard. With an amused curl of his clean-shaven lip, he dispelled the ropes into nothing.

Honestly, Nicolas knew, Harry was doing damn fine for a lad of ten.  
Nicholas had noticed a keen thirst for knowledge and aptitude in the boy which he and his wife, Perenelle, had encouraged.  
Harry was still getting used to the practical, but his theory on spells and such was quite good.  
Nicolas did monitor the knowledge he gained, though. Lest the boy be corrupted by things that could attract his fancy.

Nicolas swept his wand in an ark, deflecting another barrage of well-aimed stunners and schoolyard spells.  
"You're getting better, Harry, Nicolas encouraged. "Just don't ever let arrogance rule your moves."  
Day-after-day, Nicolas repeated that lesson, and Harry was beginning to roll his eyes.  
Nicolas promised himself that if Harry rolled his eyes tomorrow, he'd slap the little tike upside the head.

"Hello, sir!"said Harry.

They were sitting in Nicolas' study, in comfortable armchairs.  
It was austere in its grandeur, the painted portraits in their gilded frames looking down on them.

"Harry, my boy!"said Albus Dumbledore. "How's this old man treating you?"

Harry laughed.  
"Just fine, sir, just fine."

"Glad to hear it, Harry, Dumbledore said. "However, Nicolas and I have some private matters to discuss. So, would you mind giving us a moment alone?"

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.  
Harry nodded and got up, the seat releasing him with a soft "puff of leather.

Once Harry had left the room, Dumbledore said: "It was not wise to take Harry away from Godric's Hollow all those years ago, Nicolas."

"Albus," Nicolas said. "Do you have any idea what those muggles would have done to him?""

"Yes, Nicolas, sighed Dumbledore. "I do."

"And you would condemn Harry to that?""

"At the time, said Dumbledore, "that appeared to be the best coarse of action to take, where Harry was concerned.  
The wards that I had planned to put up, in the event of the Potter's death..."

Nicholas cut him off: "So you planned all this, Albus? Down to the last detail?"

"I knew this would happen, Nicolas. The prophecy decreed it."

"Prophecy?"Nicolas scoffed. "You are putting your faith in a prophecy?"

"As would you, Dumbledore said, "if you knew the contents."

"Maybe, Nicolas conceded, "but I can't let that happen to Harry. He has become the child I never could have."

Dumbledore gazed mournfully at the expression on Nicolas' face.

"I am aware of that, said Dumbledore. "That is why, against my better judgment, I have entrusted young Harry to your care."

"However can I repay you, said Nicolas, sarcastically.

"By looking after the boy," replied Dumbledore, sharply.

The door twitched as Harry leaned against it.  
He drew in a sharp lungful of breath, for fear of detection.  
Indeed, the voices had stopped altogether, and Harry expected a silencing ward of some sort.

"When do you plan to tell Harry about this supposed prophecy, Albus?"

"When he is old enough, my friend," Dumbledore replied, running his hand tiredly through his silver hair, which had once been of the richest auburn.

"And when'll that be?"Nicholas wanted to know.

"When the time is right, said Dumbledore, with a note of finality.

OOOOO

Harry's birthday was spectacular, in his opinion. The Delacour's had shown up, the eldest daughter, Fleur, who was fourteen, clutching figuratively at the mother's skirts, her eyes looking nervously around.  
Harry spotted Fleur and grinned.

"Hello, Fleur, Harry said, shyly.

"'Arry?" Fleur said, a note of sensual delight, completely missed by Harry, lacing her melodious voice. "'ow 'ave you been?"

"Fine, muttered Harry, bashfully.

"Zat is good, no?""

Fleur kissed him on both cheeks and handed him her gift.

When Harry opened the wrapping, he found a jewelry box, with a friendship-ring inside.  
The diamond set in the center of the silver band caught the candle light, making it sparkle, just like Fleur's eyes.  
Harry hugged her in thanks, and Fleur beamed.

"Eet is only a pleasure, 'Arry," she said, helping Harry put the ring on.

"Good lad, Nicolas said to Perenelle. "He has managed to bag a veela."

Perenelle swatted his arm lightly, her blue eyes alight with amusement.

"Don't look at me," she muttered.

"Well," commented Dumbledore. "It does seem like Harry does have fine taste in his women."  
"Indeed," murmured Nicolas. "Not many people can resist Fleur's charm, and our Harry here can."

"One of the reasons why young Ms. Delacour hangs around Harry, I presume?"

"Wouldn't put it passed her," Nicolas agreed.

Harry sliced downward, the layers of his birthday cake parting. He had blown out the eleven candles that dominated the snitch-shaped cake.  
Nicolas and Perenelle smiled proudly, as they took photographs, to record this moment to look at, for when their Harry was at Hogwarts.

OOOOO

Perenelle lead him by the hand, as they navigated their way through the busy streets of Diagon Alley.  
Harry's inquisitive eyes gazed all around him, enraptured by the many magical occurrences around him.

He observed how someone rode on a broom, apparently testing its capabilities and overall speed.  
Harry tilted his head back to watch the rider descend and alight gently in front of 'Quality Quidditch Supplies,' and bask in the applause of his admirers.

"He's good," muttered Harry in awe.

Unfortunately for Harry, Perenelle had not yet let him fly on a broom, so he was looking forward to the flying lessons Dumbledore had told him about that would take place this year at Hogwarts.

Harry stared at the goblins in fascination, but turned away hastily when they leered at him unpleasantly.

"Don't mind them," Perenelle reassured him. "Goblins like to assert their authority."

Once the goblin teller saw who was there, he did a doubletake.

"Mrs. Flamel?" the goblin asked, looking at Perenelle enquiringly.

"I need to visit Harry Potter's vault," she replied, curtly.

"I have a vault?" Harry asked, sounding shocked.

"A trust vault," Perenelle confirmed.

After a memorable cart ride, they reached the surface. Harry held a sack full of galleons and looked as if Christmas had come early.

"Now, now, Harry," Perenelle cautioned. "Spend wisely, okay?"

Harry nodded and they approached Flourish and Blots.  
The booklist that Dumbledore had given him yesterday was consulted.

"Only three extra books," Perenelle said, tolerantly.

Harry nodded and chose:  
offence and defense for beginners by Jim Sterling; The guide to dueling strategy by Dromilus Peverus; and The art of basic healing by Amanda Drovern-brokenwell.

Ever since the age of nine, when Harry had broken his arm, he had had a slight interest in the art of healing.  
Perenelle, who had some experience in healing, had backed him up on this and had encouraged him to pursue this line of knowledge.

Harry left the shop, straining under the weight of his books.  
"Oleander s next, right?" Harry asked, eagerly.  
"Yep," Perenelle smiled at him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Ollivander said, scaring the blazes out of Harry. "And Mrs. Flamel."  
Perenelle chuckled.

"Three guesses as to what my wand is, Mr. Ollivander."

"I will not even endeavor to guess, Mrs. Flamel."

"Thought not," she said through her chuckles.

Harry tried wand after wand, and settled on the Holly and Phoenix feather core.  
He shuddered as he remembered Ollivander's blank eyes peering at Harry, as he told him the story of how he had sold the brother wand that had given Harry the scar.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered, the word rebounding inside his skull, over and over.

"Voldemort, the murderer of my parents."

OOOOO

"Think you're something special, now that you've got a wand?" Nicolas mocked.

Harry shot a stinging hex at Nicolas, who let it hit him.  
Unfortunately, he misjudged and he found that he had an engorged nipple.  
To the accompaniment of Harry's giggles, he ran out of the room to go find some healing sav.

"Bugger!"  
Harry cursed as his new owl, Hedwig, bit him.  
"You have to go in the cage, till we get to Hogwarts!" he told her.  
Nursing his throbbing index finger, he managed to coax Hedwig into her cage, where he closed the little door with a clang.

"I'll let you out soon," he promised her.

Hedwig hooted in disbelief, and Harry smiled reassuringly at her.

"Well, Mr. Boy-who-lived," said Nicolas. "Are you ready to train to be the next Dark Lord?"

"Not funny," Harry deadpanned.

The press had been hinting that Harry Potter was secretly training to be a Dark Lord, what with his sudden disappearance.

They stood on the platform, in front of the scarlet steam engine, Nicolas' hand on Harry's shoulder.  
"I'm going to drop the glamour on three, Harry," murmured Perenelle, soothingly.  
Grimacing, Harry nodded for her to do so.

Harry felt the slight push-and-pull sensation he associated with a dispelling glamour.

"Well," said Nicolas. "I guess this is it for a few months."

"Don't be such a pansy, Nick," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," said Perenelle. "Nick is right."  
She sniffled slightly, before wiping her nose on a handkerchief.

"You behave yourself, young man!" Nicolas tried to sound stern, but ended up failing miserably.

"Don't you worry about me," Harry said. At their expressions, he added: "Well... Not too much."

Perenelle and Nicolas smiled, before they wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Thanks for... you know... everything," said Harry, sincerely.

"You're always welcome, Harry," they said in unison.

"Well, goodbye, then," Harry muttered, before the whistle blew.

A/N:

I hate the fact that this first chapter turned into such a clich .  
I will try to make amends in the future.  
Rest assured, the next chapter will be longer than this little piece of work.  
Thanks to Psychoyoshi79 for his help. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the favs, follows and reviews, people!  
Sorry about having to copy some of the stuff from Canon, I just didn't feel like writing the sorting hat's song and Dumbledore's speech.  
Oh, and if you're interested in being my beta, please PM me, or leave a review. And thanks to the reviewers who pointed out my mistakes.

CHAPTER TWO

Perenelle placed a hand on Nicolas' broad shoulder.

"It'll be okay," she said gently.

"I know," Nicolas squeezed her hand and smiled.

Harry navigated his way through the throng of kids, pets and adults on the platform. Because of his size, he wouldn't attract attention. He looked the part of the average kid going to Hogwarts.

Harry's trunk had been hit with a lightening charm, so as to make it easier to flow with the crowd. He hopped onto the train and began his search for a compartment.

Kids ran back and forth, cages swinging from thin-wristed, clumsy grips. Harry dodged and wove through this oppression of bodies and eventually located a compartment to himself.

Nicolas peered through all the windows, till he found the face of his young charge. Harry Potter met his eyes and Nicolas smiled at Harry, who smiled back.

"I'll be fine," his smile seemed to say, and Nicolas believed him.

Harry heaved his trunk into an overhead stowage compartment and sat back, opening a book against his knees. Hopefully, this would deter any people, who wanted to share his compartment, from bothering him.

A boy, his hair of the brightest red, sat down in the long bench across from Harry. When Harry looked up briefly at the boy, he said:

"All the other compartments are full."

Nodding, harry returned to his book, his bangs obscuring his expression.

"You need to make friends, Harry," Nicolas had said. "You need to fit in."

"But how will they treat me?" Harry had asked.

"Some will use you, Harry. Some will hate you, envy you, even. But that's part of life, Harry."

Harry looked back up at the boy, who looked to be rummaging in his battered trunk for something.

"Are you a Weasley?" Harry asked suddenly.

The boy looked up; his face and ears matching the deep crimson of his fiery locks.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled, put his book aside after bookmarking the page, and stuck out his hand. Gathering himself, and bracing for the impact of the onslaught of adoration that was sure to follow, Harry stuck out his hand and said:

"I'm Harry... Harry Potter."

The sharp intake of breath, the flicker-quick movement of his blue eyes to Harry's bang-covered scar and the awe-filled expression was all part of the package.

"Are you really?" Ron asked.  
"So you have that..." Ron jabbed a finger at the patch of hair obscuring the trademark of the-Boy-Who-Lived.  
"Yep," said Harry.

He hated such attention, attention that he didn't deserve.

The spell was broken by Ron, who couldn't think of anything else to say, so continued rummaging in his trunk. Finally, he came up with a package of sandwiches, squashed beyond pristine.

"Corned beef," Ron muttered sourly. "She always packs me corned beef."

Ron bit into his sandwiches and Harry ignored the trolley lady as she prowled by, the apex of her belly nearly covering half of the flat service of the trolley.

Having nothing else to do, Harry read, occasionally looking up to gaze at the scenery flashing by along side the whizzing train.

"Have you seen a toad?"

Harry looked up at a pudgy, round-faced boy, who looked back at him with the utter desperation in his tear-filled eyes. Tears collected under the eyeballs and slip-slid down the protuberant undulations of baby fat. Harry shook his head.

"Sorry, mate," he said softly. "Haven't seen any toad in here."

The boy's face nearly crumpled into a clenched mask of hopelessness and Harry felt a spurring of pity for him.

"What's your name?" Harry asked.

"N-Neville," the boy hick-upped. "Neville Longbottom."

"Okay, Neville. What's your toad's name?"

"Trevor," said Neville.

Harry drew his wand and felt it. He channeled magic through it, gathering it into a vortex. This was a trick Nicolas had taught him.

"When you don't have enough magical energy left, this is how you summon."

"Accio Trevor!" Harry shouted.

Harry halted the toad in mid air, before gently levitating it into the waiting hands of Neville Longbottom.

Harry had made room for Neville, who took a seat beside him. Trying to penetrate the barrier of Neville's shy facade was hard, almost damn near impossible, but Harry tried to coax him.

'This bloke needs an ego,' he thought. 'He needs to grow a pair.'

"So," said Harry. "What house are you planning to be in?"

"Gryffindor," said Neville, more confident now that the subject had moved onto familiar territory.

"Really?" said Harry. "My parents were in Gryffindor."

What Harry liked about Neville was the fact that he didn't gape at Harry or stare.  
His shyness was because he was being included in something, not because he was being addressed by the-Boy-Who-Lived.

"And you, Ron?" Harry asked the redhead."

"Gryffindor, same as Neville. I don't fancy ending up in Slytherin."

"Why not?" Harry asked, interested now.

"Because Slytherin is where the wrong sort end up."

"The wrong sort?" Harry asked.

"Dark wizards and pureblood bigots."

The fashion in which the boy stated this, made Harry think that this boy was brainwashed into thinking such things. The word 'Bigot' was not an everyday word applied by an eleven-year old boy.

"You do know of Perenelle Flamel, don't you?"

Ron shook his head.  
"No?"

"I do," said Neville, the light of something coming together in his eyes.

"Well, Perenelle is my guardian, and she was a Slytherin. And she's one of the most delightful people I know!"

Ron looked sheepish for a moment.

"I thought she went to Durmstrang?" said Neville, uncertainly.

"Yeah," said Harry. "She did. She was a transfer student. She attended Hogwarts after taking her OWLs."

Neville looked fascinated.

"Well, you learn something new every day, eh?"

"Indeed," Harry smiled.

"So, what house do you want to be in, Harry?" asked Neville curiously.

"That, Neville," said Harry, with the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "is a bloody good question.

OOOOO

"I was told that Harry Potter was in this compartment."

Harry, Ron and Neville looked up and into the pointed, tapered face of a Malfoy.

"That would be me," Harry said.

The boy stepped in, forgetting about his goons.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, before jabbing a negligent finger towards his goons. "And this is Crabbe and Goyle."

The only difference between Crabbe and Goyle, Harry thought, was the huge mole that rode high on Goyle's brow. Goyle's hair was too thin to obscure it, so he chose to expose it, the one defining characteristic of his unflattering appearance.

Harry took his hand and smiled.

Draco glanced around the compartment and said: "You don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort, Harry. I can help you there."

"What is it with purebloods and this wrong sort crap?" asked Harry, to no one in particular.

Draco flushed, the spots of pink standing out livid and fresh against his pale complexion. Harry, however, was torn. His new friends, or Draco, who was his back door into the circle of purebloods.

"The difference between what is right, and what is easy," Harry had once overheard Albus Dumbledore say.

So instead, Harry said:

"I'll think about your offer, Malfoy."

His storm-grey eyes clouded over slightly, but Draco nodded, all the same.

OOOOO

Disembarking from the train, Harry noticed, because it was impossible not to notice, a giant holding a lantern aloft,

"Firs' years! Firs' years, follow me!"

Harry followed his fellow first years to the fleet of boats lining the bank. Harry, Ron and Neville commandeered a boat and sat chatting, waiting patiently for the flotilla of boats to get a move on. They discussed the different classes they'd take, with Ron chipping with criticisms about the variety of teachers that taught his older brothers, Fred and George.

"Duck yer heads!" Hagrid, the giant bellowed, before practicing what he preached.

Harry rolled his eyes and spotted the algae above him, before the view suddenly cleared.

"Jus' round that bend, there," Hagrid called over the sudden noise of cascading water.

Harry held his breath and let it out in a gasp of excitement.

"Holy Merlin," he whispered to himself.

The castle looked like a Christmas tree, what with the many flares of light. It towered over the main village of Hogsmead and the highest branch of the forbidden forest. Harry observed in awe, the many protruding towers and the ethereal comfort it exuded.

"And that's Hogwarts!" Hagrid called jovially.

Harry's amazement was mirrored by many, if not all. Even Draco Malfoy looked impressed.

Disembarking from the boats and trying not to get their feet wet, they proceeded up to the looming, hard oaken doors. There was no visible door handle in sight, so Hagrid knocked, his knuckles causing a cacophony of sound to brake across the hills like the echoes of thunder. The door was opened by a stern witch, Minerva McGonagall, who stared the first years down imperiously. Harry had to admit, she did look imposing, with her hair drawn into a bun so severe, and it looked to have drawn the skin tight across the bones of her high forehead.

They were lead into an antechamber, off the side of the great hall, where McGonagall began her stern lecture.

"Each of you will be sorted into four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.  
These houses will become your family here at Hogwarts.  
You will attend classes with them, share dormitories with them and most importantly, share or lose victories."

She stared around at all of them and pointed students out, who dared to enter with the improper way of wearing robes.

Once McGonagall had left, the students began the discussion on what and how they would be sorted into their respective houses. Harry tuned them out, opting to merely be alone with his thoughts.

He thought of what Nicolas and Perenelle had said, last night.

"Whatever house you are sorted into, just know that we'll be proud of you."

Was he brave? Harry wondered. Or was he smart? Was he loyal and hard-working? Or was he cunning or ambitious?

He was all of those things, he knew. So, he would leave it in the capable hands of whatever would be sorting him.

"Proceed to the great hall, if you please?" McGonagall said briskly.

Harry followed the line of students into the great hall and stared, openmouthed at the ceiling, where the approximation of a star-filled sky hung over the scene. Four candle-lit tables, what Harry assumed were for the four houses, including the staff table, were in a straight-angle formation. Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his eyes agleam with excitement at the prospect of the reception of new students.

Harry saw a diminutive wizard, what he assumed was a professor, carry in the stool, a frayed and dusty hat perched atop it. He opened his mouth as wide as the sudden rip of the brim, as the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Harry bit his lip and felt the stirrings of anxiety begin to prickle at his insides. Where did he belong? Where did he fit in with all these people?

"When I call your name," said Professor McGonagall, "You are to please sit on the stool."

"Abbott, Hannah," became a Hufflepuff, much to the delight of the Hufflepuff table. The Fat Friar made room for her and smiled at her, winking cheekily.

"Bones, Susan," joined Hannah at the Hufflepuff table.

"Boot, Terry!" became the first Ravenclaw and was joined a minute later by "Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

The honor of the first Gryffindor for the first years was bestowed on "Brown, Lavender," who skipped up to her table, looking much the same as Hannah, except for the skinnier stature.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin, much to the delight of some of the Slytherins.

"Davis, Tracy!" became another Slytherin.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" "Hufflepuff!"

"Finnigan, Seamus," became the second Gryffindor, much to the delight of the table on the far left.

"Granger, Hermione," ran to the stool and the hat made her the third Gryffindor, causing Ron Weasley to groan behind Harry.

"Greengrass, Daphne!" became yet another Slytherin.

"Longbottom, Neville," Harry's new friend, took a wile to sort. Eventually, the hat decided on Gryffindor, much to Harry's shock.

"Well, well," he muttered. "Seems like he does have some potential, after all."

"MacDougal, Morag," became a Ravenclaw.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco swaggered up to the stool and was immediately declared a Slytherin and joined his friends, Crabbe and Goyle.

"No surprise there," Ron muttered bitterly.

Harry nudged him.

"Prejudices are unbecoming of you, Ron," Harry muttered, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

Ron scoffed audibly in his ear, but Harry ignored him, in favor of watching Lily Moon being sorted into Slytherin.

"Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson followed suit.

Two Dark skinned twins, Padma and Parvati Patil, joined Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively.

Sally-Anne Perks became another Hufflepuff...

And then it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry!"

McGonagall seemed to draw out the bur in the R's of his name. They rattled in his skull, driving all semblance of clarity, of decisive action from his mind.

Whispers stalked him to the stool, sounding like the hissing of snakes underfoot.

"Where has he been?"

Was the most prominent question.

Harry ignored them, in favor of concentrating on his movements. The hat was lowered over his head, and Harry caught the scent of shampoo and dust, mingling to become something unique. His mother and father had worn the same hat. Did they feel as nervous? Were they this unsure of where the hat would place them?

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness,  
yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting...  
So where shall I put you?"

"Buggered if I know," Harry thought darkly.  
"You're the smart-arse piece of cloth.

"Hmm," said the hat again. "Slytherin, maybe?"

"Maybe," said Harry.

"You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."

"On my way to greatness, eh?" Harry smirked. "What about Gryffindor?"  
"Maybe..." said the hat, "but I think Slytherin will be your best option."

"Alright, then," Harry said. "Slytherin, it is."

"Slytherin!" the hat called out.

The hat was lifted off his head and Harry saw the varying expressions of disbelief, calculating and, from Ron, betrayal.

A prefect, broad of shoulder and venomous of countenance got up and shook Harry's hand formally.

"Glad you could join us serpents, Potter."

Well, hell! thought Harry. Quite the bloody welcome, indeed.

Harry took his place beside Draco, who smirked at him.

"Guess you know your place, after all, Potter."

Harry hummed and stared at Dumbledore, who was staring back at him, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes, however, still held that twinkle, which was a slight reassurance.

Harry scanned the staff table, and met the black eyes of Severus Snape, his head of house. He seemed to be glaring a hole right through Harry, but he ignored him. That was until he felt the prickling of his scar.

The Bloody Baronn, the Slytherin ghost fixed him with a blank stare, but Harry avoided his gaze uneasily.

"What's the big deal?" he muttered under his breath.

Draco, who had apparently heard him, said:

"Well, the big deal is... it's you, Potter. Defeater of Dark Lords and all that tripe."

"Ahh," muttered Harry, comprehendingly.

They expected him to be a Gryffindor, because he was a damned hero.

"Sorry to disappoint," he told Draco.

"Disappoint? Ha!" Draco scoffed at the idea. "We are not disappointed in the slightest, Potter!"

"Glad to hear it..."

Harry was interrupted by Albus Dumbledore tapping his crystalline goblet with the handle of his silver fork. Apparently, he had missed the rest of the sorting, due to his interaction with the several people.

"If I can have your attention for a moment?"

All noise ceased, leaving Dumbledore to take the floor.

"I have but a few words to say," he began, before Dumbledore smiled, a mischievous twinkle blasting the Great Hall. "They are: Nitwit!  
Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Thank you!"

Dumbledore sat down, and the golden plates started to heap with food.

The Slytherin table et in silence, a vast contrast to the other four tables in the hall. Apparently, it was the way of Slytherin to see who would be the one to break the silence.

But nobody did. Harry et, till he couldn't eat any more. He had his last mouthful of pudding, before glancing expectantly up at the staff table, where Albus Dumbledore was taking the stage once more.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"Stupid old man," muttered Draco. "He might as well have been saying: 'Please... Go there...'"

Harry had to admit Draco had a point.

"Wonder what his game is?" he asked Draco.

"Old fool like that... Who knows?"

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"  
And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.  
Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!  
And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"Off you trot?" Draco mocked. "Does he think we're five or something?"

Harry ignored Draco's scathing remarks and assisted with pushing the bench back.

"Follow me!" said the Slytherin prefect, a fifth year by the name of Flint.

The Slytherins marched out of the great hall and descended toward the dungeons, where it grew progressively darker, and the further down they descended.

"This is Filch's old punishment room, where he used to dangle students by their thumbs from the ceiling!" Flint kept up a running commentary, as they passed locations of importance.

Five minutes later, Flint lead them to a blank stretch of wall that appeared to be a dead end.  
"The password is Lingis," said Flint.

The stone vanished, baring the Slytherin common room.

It was one square room, with passages branching off in all directions from each corner. At the far wall, was a fireplace that nearly took up the whole wall, but just leaving enough space for two battered-looking armchairs to flank noticed other armchairs scattered around, like a smattering of freckles on an otherwise barren floor.

"Alright, little ones!" Flint bellowed. "First-year dorms are over there!"

Flint jabbed a negligent, sausage-like finger at the passage farthest from the entrance.

"You share this corridor with the second and third years, so mind that you keep it down, yeah?"

Flint's voice took on a gravely, threatening edge that none of them missed.

"Now," said flint. "We are your prefects, and we'll be obeyed at all times, no matter what. Understood?"

Some of them nodded furtively.

"Good. Snape might be our Head, but in this place," he jabbed a finger at Terence Higs, the head boy and seeker for the quidditch team, "is king!"

They nodded again and flint smiled suddenly.

"Glad we understand each other," he growled. "Now, off to bed!"

Harry's bed was along side that of Blaise Zabini, who didn't even glance at Harry, when he pulled back the serpent-covered hangings that obscured his bed. Harry shut them again and ignored the chatter and gazed at the trunk that stood at the foot of his bed.

"Should I read?" he wondered out loud.

Deciding against it for tonight, Harry lay his head on the pillow, and within minutes, was asleep.

OOOOO

"Master," said Quirrel. "What can you tell me about Nicolas Flamel?"

The face at the back of Quirrel's head smiled indulgently and began listing off information about Nicolas Flamel:

Born: 1327 aged around 665 Brown hair, dark eyes, pale skin,

Wife: Perenelle Flamel

Occupation: Alchemist, Philosopher, manufacturer of the Philosopher's stone, which produces the elixir of life.  
Flamel loves his opera.  
He enjoys a quiet life in Devon,

Graduated Hogwarts in 1345, straight out of Gryffindor. Known hater of the dark arts. Guardian to one Harry James Potter.

"Right," said Quirrel. "The stone is in the third floor corridor. So, should I adjust my plans accordingly?"

"Our plans, Quirrel," Voldemort chided. "Never forget that you are a mere servant, subservient to my whim."  
"As you say, master,"

Quirrel did not bow, for bowing to a face at the back of your own head felt decidedly odd. He did, however, moderate his tone.

Should I alert Severus as to your presence?

No! Voldemort barked sharply. I want to see where Snape s loyalties really lie.

As you wish, master. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry I took so long to update. I had to rewrite this whole chapter, after losing the whole thing! That s why it is so short, due to the fact that I can t remember half the dialogue I had added here. Anyway, do enjoy and feel free to drop me a review.

Chapter 3

From the morning Harry woke up on the second of September, to the brief tet-a-tet outside the potions class that following morning, everything was at the stage of equilibrium. There were, naturally, whispers that followed him down the corridors as he explored the castle, Draco in toe.

Harry skipped over the vanishing step that lead down to the dungeons, taking care land on both feet at the bottom of the stair case. Outside the potions class, a line of Slytherins and Gryffindors waited for the legendary professor Snape to usher them inside. Ron Weasley pulled Harry aside.

"What would your parent's think, with you being in Slytherin and all?" he had asked.

"They would have been proud of me," said Harry, with no trace of uncertainty in his voice.

"But in Slytherin?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Slytherin would have gained an excellent student, wouldn't it?"

Their dialogue was cut short by Professor Snape dramatically throwing open the door that lead into his dark classroom.

"Enter," said Snape silkily.

Harry, to Draco's consternation, took a seat next to Neville Longbottom. They ignored the Gryffindor's venomous stare, directed at Neville that screamed "traitor, in favor of gazing at Snape, who was marking off names on the register.

Harry's status as a celebrity, in Snape's eyes, was quashed by the fact that he was in Slytherin. Snape chose to remain neutral on the subject of Harry Potter. This, however, was not the case for one Neville Longbottom.

Neville, Snape knew, would be a walking disaster in the potions class, so it was best to abuse the boy into a meek state of submission.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class," said Snape.  
Harry tuned the rest of Snape's silky speech in favor of glaring at Dean Thomas, who was tapping his foot rather noisily.

Flamel had tutored Harry on the basics of potions up to second year level, so Harry could afford to tune out the speech on safety measures and snarky remarks on the students' lack of intelligence.

Other than Snape, the rest of the professors were okay. McGonagall was stern, Flitwick was cheerful and knowledgeable when it came to his subject, Quirrel was a stuttering mess and sprout was fair. Neville, who seemed to do really bad in potions, seemed to take a liking to herbology. When one of the Gryffindors had brought this up, Neville had explained that from an early age, his Gran had taught him how to care for plants. This was, apparently because of his late-blooming magical ability. Augusta had thought him a squib, so she had taken it upon herself, in a fit of senile intelligence, to force Neville to learn about the care of flora. Harry had wondered, though, why Neville hadn't tried potions or cared for magical creatures and such. Then, he realized that you needed a wand to get some of the potions going.

OOOOO

Harry had thought the title of brave was a trait that only Gryffindors possessed. Harry was proven otherwise when Daphne Greengrass, a first-year, punched Lily Moon, also a first-year Slytherin in the eye. At the time, Harry had been draped over an armchair in a light dose, when the commotion had awoke him. When he had asked about it, they had told him that Moon had called Greengrass' friend, Tracy, an insensitive bitch.

Harry had rolled over and told them to shut up. This, in turn, caused Tracy to blow up at him. Fearing a sudden rush of temper and not wanting to lose face in front of the entire common room, Harry picked Lily up in his arms and, trying to burn his temper out, sprinted up a few flights of stairs to take Lily to the hospital wing.

Harry sat on a bed opposite Lily and gazed at her. She was a halfblood Slytherin, like him, with long, blonde hair that fell to skinny shoulders. He looked into her blue eyes as he began his reprimand.  
"You know," he began, "That wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do."

"I was joking!" she protested.

"I know, but Davis and Greengrass don't know that, do they?"

"Spose not," she mumbled.

"Then, I suggest you should clear the air between you."

After Lily had returned, with Harry in toe, to the common room with a clean bill of health, she had apologized to Daphne and Tracy, and had explained the situation. The fact that Harry had reunited the trio of girls had endeared him to them. Thus, a tentative friendship had sprung up between them.

In all this, Draco was never forgotten. Harry and Draco Had become firm friends with conditions. Draco was not to bother Harry, when he bitched about the use of dark magic, and Harry was not to bitch at Draco for calling Granger a mudblood. Their differences were set aside, if temporarily, for a budding friendship. Draco's offer of alliance had now changed to his hand extending in a solemn offer of friendship, which Harry gladly clung to.

A tentative friendship between Neville and Draco had also started to bloom, after they were forced to be in each other's presence, as a consequence of hanging out with Harry. This, however, was kept under wraps, lest they, Neville and Draco, were scorned by their respective houses. Harry was left alone, due to the fact that they were all distracted from his friendships by the fact that he, the-Boy-Who-Lived, was in Slytherin. The children of Dumbledore's allies didn't seem too happy with Harry's sorting, though.

OOOOO

On the sixth of September, Harry took a stroll to the owlery to send Flamel a letter. In his letter, he explained his status as a Slytherin and went on to say, in a mass of scribbles and inkblots, how he was enjoying himself and making new friends. Nicolas, Harry knew, would be pleased at this latest development.

He let Hedwig perch on his arm for a wile, enjoying the softness of her feathers as he stroked her plumage.

"Travel safely, Hedwig," he whispered to his owl.

She hooted at him indignantly, and ruffled her feathers. Chuckling, Harry reared his right arm back and flung Hedwig out the open window, where she fell through the air, only expanding her white-speckled wings a few feet off the ground.

When Harry got back to the common room, he observed Draco in conversation with Pansy, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving Draco to it, he chose to join Daphne, Tracy and Lily.

"Where have you been?" asked Daphne in her usual tone, devoid of emotion.

"At the owlery, mum! Honest!"

Tracy shifted over and patted the spot between her and Daphne. Gratefully, Harry took his seat and smirked at Tracy, who appeared to be doing her homework.

"Finished your homework, then?" asked Daphne, apparently catching Harry's gaze.

"Yep! Last night, already."

"Lucky you," muttered Tracy under her breath.

"Lazy little bint," said Daphne under her breath, so only Harry could hear.

"Same here," chimed in Lily. "That potions essay was a pain, though."

"Agreed!" they all said in unison.

OOOOO

Harry put down his knife and fork, feeling his stomach clench in fearful anticipation. Today was their first flying lesson on a broom.

"Never doubt yourself up there," said Draco, "as that will be your undoing."

"Pretty wise words from a child like you," said Flint heartily.

Crabbe and Goyle snickered and Harry glared at them.

"Thanks, Draco," mumbled Harry. "But I won't doubt myself. Shit myself, sure. But doubt? Never!"

"That's the spirit, Potter," laughed Flint, clapping Harry on the back.

"Right," said madam Hooch. "On three, I want you all to say up!"

"Up!" they all shouted in unison, after Hooch's countdown.

The broom smacked into Harry's palm and he could feel it vibrate and tingle expectantly. Grinning, he looked over at Draco, who grinned back, broom in hand.

"Now," said Hooch. "On three, take off slowly... After mounting your brooms, of course. If you rise before I blow my whistle, it'll be more than the chains restraining my temper that shatter. Got it?"

They all nodded and Hooch began her countdown.

On two, Neville, in a sudden fit of panic, shot off the ground. He was skimming the trees with in five seconds, leaving leaves to drift to the ground in his wake. Neville let go of his broom and his descent began with a scream, and ended with a thwack and a sickening crack, which signaled the cracking of his radius. Harry, who had broken his fair share of bones, winced in sympathy. After warning them about the severe consequences of flying without Hooch's monitoring, she levitated Neville towards the hospital wing.

"Look!" crowed Draco. "Longbottom's rememberall!"

"Here we go," muttered Harry under his breath.

"Give it here, Draco," said Harry.

"Na, Harry. I'll race you for it."

Harry, who had never flown in his life, said," You're on, mate."

Draco proved his skill in flying by reaching the treetops within three seconds. Harry, with one leg thrown over his broom, kicked off and molded himself to the broom. He shot into the air like a bullet, and was soon on Draco's tale. Catching up to him, Harry cornered him against a particularly high branch.

Draco, who hated being beaten above all other things, said: "Catch, Harry!"

He lobbed the ball high in the air. It stopped at the apex of its flight, before plunging at a rapid rate toward the earth.

Harry turned his broom and began his dive after the glittering glass orb. It was a foot off the ground and still descending. Harry let go of his broom with his right hand and stretched, his body tilting to the right slightly. He got a hand under the sphere, and a moment later, it wacked into his palm, numbing his hand.

Just realizing how close to the ground he actually was, Harry sat straight, then leaned back, tucking his legs under him. His descent leveled off and his broom came to a halt, just before it could impale Professor McGonagall.

Harry swaggered into the great hall and took his seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table. Harry had been given an ultimatum. Either he would play for the Slytherin quidditch team, or he would serve detention for the rest of the year. Naturally, he elected for the former option, much to Flint's pleasure.

"McGonagall said that she had never seen anything like that, in all her years," Harry related to Draco.

"Nice one, Harry."

"Yeah. Having McGonagall say that was one thing. Dumbledore, however was another!"

Draco laughed. "I bet," he said, through a mouthful of bangers and mashed potato.

OOOOO

Harry sat astride his new broom, the Nimbus 2000. Snape had told Harry to request a new broom from Flamel, who was a bit apprehensive about letting Harry play. He dove and wove through a hail of conjured balls, being lobbed by flint. So far, Harry had caught every one. Two beaters behind him, instead of using bludgeors, resorted to shooting stinging hexes. Harry had felt one graze his flank, just as he executed a particularly difficult maneuver to catch a ball.

Harry turned as the whoosh of conjured balls sounded behind him. Diving under the beaters to avoid their hexes, he couldn't help but smirk as they hit each other, causing a fight to begin. Harry turned, despite himself, to watch the flash of wands as they clashed in midair. Flint was vulgar in his rage, bellowing insults and threats at the top of his lungs if they didn't cease their petty squabbles.

OOOOO

"Potter is quite something, isn't he?" said the one.

"Indeed he is," said the other.

Fred and George were hiding out in the Gryffindor quiddich changing rooms.

"His skills as a seeker!" exclaimed Fred.

"His reflexes!" cried George.

Then in unison, they said: "Bloody amazing!"

"Pass me the omni's," said Fred.

George handed them over, and Fred rested the omnioculars against the windowsill of a particularly high-set window.

"He's good at evading," said Fred.

"And good at catching," said George.

"Despite the obvious,"

"I think it'll be best if we show these recordings to Wood, don't you think?"

"Sure, but just make sure that he doesn't grass us up to Frobisher for nicking her omni's."

"Agreed, oh brother of mine."

Fred slung an arm around his brother's shoulders as he watched Potter dismount from his broom and walk out of sight.

"What to do..." mumbled Fred.

"What to do..." echoed George.

"Well, do you think we have a chance to sabotage the upcoming match?"

"A chance?" said George. "No, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" asked Fred, scandalized. "And why's that, brother?"

"Because, oh brother of mine, oh precious twinnie, the Potter in question is standing right behind me, with a wand pressed to the back of my neck.

"You really are dumb little shits, aren't you?" asked Harry, amused.

"What makes you say that?" asked Fred, puzzled.

"I saw the sunlight reflect of the eyepieces of your omnioculars."

Fred and George adopted identical expressions of sheepishness.

"Cool it, guys," said Harry. "I'm just screwing with you."

He lowered his wand, much to the relief of Fred and George.

"Just wanted to see if I would be scary."

"Well you were scary, Harry," said Fred.

"Very scary," agreed George.

"You guys are nutters, aren't you?"

"Of course we are!" said Fred.

"Nutters, that is.

OOOOO

Lucius sipped cognac out of a wineglass and fixed the men and women around the table with a calculating glare.

"My son, Draco," he began, his voice as smooth as a pair of ironed slacks, "Has become allies with Harry Potter."

"Where was Potter?" asked Yaxley. "All these years, I mean?"

"Apparently," said Lucius, "he has been living under the protection of Flamel manner, all this time."

Theatrical gasps of shock met his statement, and Lucius glared at them.

"We will not move against Potter for now!" he shouted. "Potter is too well-guarded, and any harm done to the boy on our part, will be the last thing some of you do. And to be honest, loathed as I am to admit it, we cannot afford the loss of even one of you."

Lucius took another sip, draining his glass. Inclining a crystal decanter, he proceeded to pour more cognac into his wineglass.

"So, here's what we will do. None of us have a personal vendetta against Potter, so we'll leave him be for now, till there is a sign that the Dark Lord is alive."

OOOOO

"And that's it," finished Marsha Stebbins, Flamel's spy in the inner circle of Lucius' allies.

Flamel had chosen to remain neutral, but ever since he had taken Harry in, he had shouldered the responsibility of looking out for him. His attachment to the boy had made the decision to utilize Marsha against her former allies for him.

Ten years ago, Flamel had saved the life of her father, which had indebted Marsha, his sole remaining family member, to him.

"So, Harry is friends with the Draco Malfoy, eh?"

"About that..." began Marsha. "What do you intend to do about their friendship?"

"Absolutely nothing," answered Flamel honestly."

"Don't you think Draco Malfoy will corrupt Harry, turn him away from the light?"

"I think, at the end of the day, Harry will fight for what he believes is right." 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I suck, I know. Haven t updated in a wile and I should be cooked at the stake!

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, fokes. They are appreciated and I hope that many more shall come. :)

Also, next chapter should be longer, cause it ll deal with the er you ll see and of course, Halloween.

Chapter four

"But I thought Slytherin already had a seeker?" Daphne said, puzzled by this.

"Yeah they do, but that's why Higs and I are going to have a stand-off," Harry replied, still feeling that twinge as he thought of that prospect. The bloke had been flying for years and Harry, mere weeks. He'd have to be the quidditch version of Merlin himself to pull something like that off.

"Think you'll win?" Daphne asked.

"Of course he'll win!" Tracy shouted indignantly.

"Hope so," Lily Moon muttered, her sleepy blue eyes focused on Harry.

"Well," said Harry, "I'll certainly try."

Harry turned and spotted Draco walking with a few of his other first-year mates. He nodded to him, turned around and continued his casual stroll toward the great hall.

His Nimbus 2000 flew like a breeze, skirting through hoops and over-hauling birds. He streaked like a bullet, shooting down the length of the pitch and ricocheting back to where he first started. They watched him practice as keenly as they would watch another famous Quidditch star. But he was preparing for the stand-off which was in two days. He'd finish his flying and bury himself in a book for the rest of the day, throw some magic around maybe.

"Catch!" Draco hollered as he hurled an apple up to Harry. Harry did a tripple front flip, not only to increase the rate of his descent, but to also show off his aviatic maneuverability.

His arm streaked through the air, his glove painting its trail green and gold as he swiped the fruit out of the air and took a bite.

When he alighted on the pitch half an hour later, they cheered and Harry noticed Higs' face, a storm cloud that vanished the happy, giddy feeling in his belly and replace it with a pincer of worry that clamped down slightly around his insides.

And he was right.

Curfew had been n hour ago, but Harry had gotten too stuck into his books to notice the time. He hoped to all hell that he'd be able to evade Filch or Snape or any other teacher looking for wondering students.

"So you think you can beet me, Potter?" A hoarse voice whispered from a near-by alcove.

"I will try, Higs," said Harry calmly.

"O know you won't, Potter," Higs disagreed. "In fact, you won't even be there for the try-out."

And a spell was heading his way so quickly that Harry nearly didn't see it coming. He dodged and it zinged passed his left ear, severing a few strands of his hair. Harry drew his wand, sent a stunner Higs' way. Higs laughed and cast another curse that crackled the air. Harry dived under it and came up firing a banisher and a difindo.

The banisher hit Higs in the face, breaking his nose and the difindo cut deeply into his chest. Blood welled up from the wound, staining the shirt a deep crimson.

"Do you give in?" Harry asked.

"Fuck you, Potter," Higs ground out through gritted teeth.

Harry shrugged and stunned him. He used another difindo to slice off Higs' shirt and bound the wound with strips of the cloth. Even as he watched, blood seeped through it and more blood poured out of his nose. Harry wasn't about to take Higs to the hospital wing, though.

Harry descended the stairs to the first floor and looked up through the banister at Higs. Harry used a levitation charm to lift a statue off its plinth and to the height of the third floor, before releasing it. The bronze statue picked up speed as it neared the second floor again and before it struck the ground with a crash that would probably wake the whole castle, Harry got out of there.

Due to Higs being in the hospital wing, the try-out was rescheduled for the next week. Harry doubted , though, if Higs would ambush him in the hallway again. He wasn't that stupid.

So Harry spent more time with his friends and also began developing a passion for learning, which was odd, considering that Flamel had always accused Harry of being lazy.

"Takes me three hours to get you out of bed," he'd grumble good-naturedly.

"Yeah, sure," Harry would say. "And the first two hours and fifty minutes are hauling your own old carcass from your coffin."

"You wound me, Harry," Nicolas would smirk. He'd retaliate with, "At least I have a bird to sleep next to."

Harry would counter by saying, "When I'm thirteen, I'm gonna invite Fleur over for my birthday, then we'll see who's getting feathers... if you catch my meaning."

Then Nicolas would wink and nudge ten-year old Harry in the ribs as his wife came into the kitchen from the pantry levitating an armload of food.

The kids would smother giggles behind their hands and the elder of the kids, Nicolas, would say, "Morning, honey."

Perinell would glare at him, then smile fondly. She, if she was in a good mood, would hurl an egg at him or an apple or tomato, depending on whatever she had at hand and Nicolas would hurl it at Harry.

There was never a dull moment in the Flamel house and, Harry admitted to himself, he was beginning to feel slightly homesick.

Nicolas appearated near the graveyard of Godric's Hollow and paused, listening to the twittering birds and the gate creaking in the wind. "Oh the things we take for granted," Nicolas murmured under his breath.

"I'd have to agree," a voice said. Nicolas looked at Dumbledore who had appeared beside him as silently as a ghost.

Nicolas continued, "How many people stop to listen to the wind's lament, stop to look at the dying moments of the sun and the dark, foreboding clouds that creep ever closer?"

"So you sense it, too?" Albus Dumbledore asked.

"Like a dementor would sense happiness," Nicolas agreed.

Dumbledore changed topic. "What brings you to this place, old friend?"

"I have come to envelope myself in nostalgia, come to meditate along side that which had once been good in this world and has now been snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane."

"You grieve still?" asked Dumbledore and Nicolas caught the sympathetic tone in his once pupil's voice.

"Always," agreed Nicolas. "Shall we go in?" he added, staring at the gate that opened toward the graveyard.

"After you," Dumbledore said grandly.

Nicolas reached out a gloved hand and pulled open the gate. He held it open for Dumbledore, then stepped around tombstones, crushing wilted flowers under foot.

He crouched at the grave of Lily Potter and rested his chin on the tips of his clasped hands. "Harry is safe," he began, "I did what you asked me and more.

He has made it into Slytherin, but I'm certain that doesn't bother you as much as it would James. He has become a seeker, the youngest in a century. I am hoping that he makes the team."

A tear leaked out of the old man's eye as he began to remember the star that was Lily Potter. Such people were rare these days and even those days. "Please be with him as he goes through his years, as he faces challenges that no child should have to face. We have gone too far to lose Harry now, we have sacrificed much."

Nicolas left the graveyard at sunset, disapperating with a soft pop, with Dumbledore nowhere to be found.

Harry sat in an abandoned classroom, parchment on a desk and an ink-filled quill in his hand. He had discovered a new concept and he was about to try it out.

First, he drew a vertical line down the parchment and toward the middle of the desk. He then split the sections of paper with a horizontal line that bisected the vertical line. He wrote one on the top left, Two on the top right, Three on the bottom left and finally, four on the bottom right.

He used his wand to cut along the lines he had created with his quill, splitting the parchment into four, then placing each piece on all four corners of the desk. Carefully, he toutched his wand to the ink dot at the center of the desk and leapt back as the desk split neatly into four sections with a huge bang.

Wicked, he muttered.

He repaired the desk and drew out another sheet of parchment. He began to draw a graph on it, blew on it to hasten the drying process. He folded it into a square and tucked it into a pocket of his robes, rose and left the classroom.

Harry walked cautiously into the forbidden forest, stopping about fifty feet in. Stopping before one of the trees, he took out his ink bottle and hurled a dot of ink at the tree. It stayed there and Harry unfolded the piece of parchment at it. The parchment struck the trunk and the tree was neatly carved into plank-like sections and he turn and ran as the tree toppled.

Harry conjured a box of matches and struck one. He touched it to the corner of his latest parchment and nothing happened at first but he stepped back anyway. The desk simply combusted, vaporising into ash.

Holy shit, Harry whispered in awe, before packing his things away and leaving the classroom.

He met up with Lily on her way back from the great hall and she grinned at him, blonde hair pulled into a bun and her blue eyes gleaming. You missed dinner, said Lily. Luckily I brought you some.

You re a sweetheart, Harry said, taking the plate from her.

In the depths of Slytherin dungeon, Harry ate, his eyes fixed on the dancing wisps of Daphne s hair as she chatted animatedly to Tracy. Beside him, Lily s quill scratched as she finished her transfiguration essay.

Potter, said a voice from behind his armchair. A word?

Harry turned to see Flint, his possible future Quidditch captain. Well if he bested Higs who was current captain.

Sure, said Harry.

He got up, leaving his plate on his vacated seat. He followed Flint to his dorm and Flint gestured him to take a seat.

Look, Potter, Flint said. I want you to kick Higs arse so I can be the captain, I m not denying that. But also, Slytherin needs a good seeker. Higs is good, but you re better trust me on that one.

Harry nodded, Thanks?

But that thing that Higs pulled is bullshit. He could have sabotaged our chances of booting him from the team. I would help you get even, but your try-out is a week before the Slytherin Gryffindor match and can t be postponed any longer. So you ve gotta watch your back, Potter. Any fuck ups and you lose your chance to be on the team and I lose the chance to be over-all captain. Got it?

Yeah, sure, Harry nodded.

So Potter, don t take shit, but don t give it, either. If Higs starts anything, do not wound the bastard, alright?

Sure, Flint, Harry said again.

Good, then we understand each other. Then Flint held out his hand, to Harry s surprise. Will be great to have you on the team, runt.

That week and weekend passed in a blur, with homework and Harry s new-found hobby for learning. He hadn t gotten much chance to hang around with Draco or Neville, but he promised himself that after the try-out he d do it. Either way, he was sure he d need their company. Whether to celebrate his victory over Higs or for his friends to try and make him feel good. Because, damnit, Harry had dared to hope and he always felt like hell after his hopes were dashed.

Harry rose the morning of the try-out and felt a flutter of nerves. Your big day, eh Harry? Draco said, but his smile was feeble.

Yeah, it is or I hope it ll be.

Harry yawned, got out of bed and began to get changed into his school robes. The try-out was after classes, but he doubted he d be able to pay attention to most of what would be said in his classes. Glancing at his timetable, he discovered he had defense against the dark arts, then charms, then transfiguration, then potions, with lunch falling somewhere in between.

Best get going, then and eat like a Ron Weasley, Harry. You re going to need all your strength, said Draco.

Yes, Dad, Harry smirked. Draco through his pillow at him.

Well-wishers were many, even those from other houses. Hermione, Neville and surprisingly, even Ron hoped that he d kick Higs out of the team. Harry just hoped that he wouldn t disappoint.

He never paid attention in DADA anyway, so he was safe on that front. Charms, however, was a little harder. They were perfecting the levitation charm, which Harry had learnt last year already, so he was lucky enough to slip professor Flitwick s assigning of extra homework to those who failed at getting the charm right entirely.

Transfiguration was slightly harder. He had not done much in the way of transfiguration, so trying to turn his beetle into a button was pretty hard, but it took his mind off the up-coming try-out, if only briefly.

Potions was a breeze, though. Harry s cauldron simmered over a flame and he stared into the hypnotic swirls as he tried to blank his mind as much as possible Ring!

The Slytherins charged for the door and they, bookbags still slung over their shoulder, charged for the pitch to try and snag as many front-row seats in the stands as they could.

Good luck, Harry. Good luck, Potter! Higs is gonna kick your arse, Potter.

I doubt that! Harry shouted back in the direction of the last voice as he sprinted toward the Quidditch locker rooms. He through off his robes, grabbed his broom and ran outside.

He saw banners emblazoned with his name, saw crude drawings of himself chewing on Higs, then spitting him out, which made him giggle hysterically.

Shut up! a voice bellowed suddenly. Higs, the present captain had his wand to his own throat and was addressing the crowd. I hope you re ready, Potter, because this try-out has no rules beyond the obvious. If I fight dirty, there s nothing you can do about it

And if I fight dirty, Harry interrupted with his wand pressed to his throat, then you better put your head between your knees and kiss your captained arse goodbye!

The crowd roared with laughter and Harry rose on the tide of excitement. Higs flushed red and Harry gave him the finger. The teachers would leave them for now, but they d be shat on for their language and fowl behaviour afterward.

Lee Jordon stepped forward and said, Potter and Higs, mount your brooms! The objective is to catch as many snitches as you can and to be conscious enough to hand them over to Madam Hooch!

Madam Hooch lifted the whistle to her lips and Jordon said, On three, kick off!

The crowd was as silent as the grave, tension thick in the air as Jordon began his count down.

One! he said, his eyes locked onto the boys, watching intently as Harry and Terence readied themselves for kick-off.

Two! he said and tension rose up a notch. Harry bent low to the ground, the broom nearly brushing the grass as he angled the nose upward.

Three! and they were off. 


End file.
